


one, two, for your bad tattoos

by defcontwo



Series: jaytim tattoo 'verse [6]
Category: Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, c'mon, you're telling me that you've never wanted to make out in the stacks of a library before? That's a classic."</p>
            </blockquote>





	one, two, for your bad tattoos

**Author's Note:**

> ft. a snot-nosed teenager spouting some slightly homophobic language but don’t worry, Jason’s comeback is worth the price of entry.

The mid afternoon sun is streaming dimly down into the Gotham City Library, leaving the shelves awash in a warm light, highlighting the dust that never seems to leave the air no matter how much they clean. Jason's got a couple more hours to go on his shift and he's knee deep in the archeology section re-shelving books when a voice pipes up from behind him. 

"You the librarian? My friend said you were the librarian." 

Jason looks down. He's still not used to that, not entirely -- how tall he is now, how he is always having to look down. To his left is a teenaged boy, about fifteen years old, peering up at him, lips downturned into a skeptical grimace. 

"Assistant librarian, yeah, that's me." 

"You don't look like a librarian," the kid says. He's got a screen-printed t-shirt with some comic book superhero's icon splashed across it, Iron Man or whatever, Tim would know. 

"Why's that?" Jason says, continuing to shelve books. The kid hasn't exactly asked him a question yet. 

"You've got tattoos and shit. Pretty sure librarians don't have tattoos, they wear like -- I don't know, elbow pads and crap like that." 

"Well, maybe that's why I'm an assistant." 

"Why do you have tattoos of flowers on your arm? What are they, pansies?" 

Jason takes a breath and counts to ten. Fucking teenaged boys. Children, he's good with, adults -- adults, he can stomach most of the time. But teenagers? Nah. 

If he let's himself think on it too closely, he's sure it has something to do with the fact that he didn't get to be one, not really, but he's not in the mood for that kind of self-defeating self-reflection, not today. 

"Nope, they're poppies." 

"Maybe you should get a pansy as your next tattoo. You know, 'cause you are one and all." The kid is pretty obviously trying to get a rise out of Jason, that much is obvious -- why, fuck knows, but. 

Jason purses his lips. "I don't know, seems like that would be beating around the bush a little. A full back portrait of me sucking my boyfriend's dick seems like it might be a little more productive." 

The kid gapes at him. 

"Got anymore questions, kid?" 

The kid shakes his head back and forth a couple of times before walking off. Jason snorts, turning back to the shelves. 

His first instinct was to punch the kid. He's pretty sure this means he's growing as a person. 

\- 

Jason blinks awake, eyes staring unseeing at the dark ceiling of Tim's bedroom. Tim's started taking afternoon classes at GU after doing whatever the hell it is that B needs him for at WE and they've got a gap of about forty-five minutes between when Jason gets off from the library and Tim needs to rush to his class, so they met in the middle for a late afternoon quickie which wasn't really _quite_ as quick as it should have been. 

Jason's pretty sure that he has no idea where the hell his shirt got to. The kitchen, maybe? 

He hops out of the bed, stretching and throwing open the door, walking into Tim's living room only to find a freckled redhead around Tim's age sitting on the couch, peering intently at the TV, an X Box controller clutched tightly in both hands. 

"You must be the scary boyfriend," the redhead says, not looking away from the game he's playing. Jason's pretty sure that's meant to be zombies lumbering across the screen and he bites back the reflexive 'hey, I'm better looking than those other zombies' joke. 

"You must be Ives." Jason casts a look in the direction of the kitchen. He definitely does not see his shirt anywhere. 

Ives nods. "That's me. Aw, crap. I'm dead. I suck at this game," he says, tossing the controller down and picking up an opened can of Zesti from the floor. 

"…And how long have you been here?" Jason's pretty sure he would have noticed if there was some guy sitting on the couch playing video games when he and Tim came tearing through the front door. 

At least 75% sure. Okay, maybe more like 65. 

"'Bout fifteen minutes. Tim texted me, told me to come over for dinner since he'll be back from class soon. I think he wants us to bond," Ives says, using air quotes. 

Jason nods, absently. He has no idea what to say. He is…not good with normal human conversation that doesn't involve vigilantism, tips for late night first aid or the finer politics of inner city life. 

He still has no idea where his fucking shirt is. 

Ives looks up at him. "Do you have a Star Wars tattoo?" 

"…Uh, no?"

Ives shrugs, taking a sip from his Zesti. "Tim says you like Star Wars." 

"I, uh. I do, yeah," Jason says. 

He remembers Dick taking him to a marathon of the original trilogy once on one of their rare bonding trips and Jason had sat, transfixed for hours, not even caring how the popcorn butter stuck to his fingers or how Dick drank all his soda. 

"Who's your favorite?"

It occurs to Jason that maybe Ives is just as much adrift here as he is because really, what do they have in common besides Tim, and that's why he's asking all these questions just to keep this from getting awkward but it's too late, Jason's pretty sure the awkward ship has sailed. 

He shrugs. "Princess Leia." 

"Really?" Ives says, raising a single eyebrow at him. 

Jason wonders if Tim taught him how to do that or was it the other way around. Maybe they taught themselves together, peering at each other and taking notes until they got it right. That's the sort of thing friends do, right? 

"I had you pegged as a Mara Jade kind of guy, scary boyfriend." 

"It's Jason," Jason feels the need to point out because jesus, it's bad enough he still can't find his shirt. "And uh, who?" 

Ives makes a sort of strangled choking noise, coughing up some of his Zesti. "You did not just say that. _Who is Mara Jade?_ Only the best character from the Expanded Universe, that's who." 

"Guess I didn't get that far," Jason says. "I kind of hated what I read of the Expanded Universe. I mean, Han wins Leia in a card game, really? What kind of bullshit is that?" 

"Dude, so you just _gave the whole thing up_?" Ives says. "Seriously?" 

Jason just looks at him. This is not going well. "You telling me that's not a good enough reason?" 

"I'm just saying, you're missing out," Ives says. 

"Right," Jason says. He finds himself shifting idly from one foot to the other. He and Ives sort of stare at each other and then look around the apartment a bit. "What time did Tim say he was getting back from class again?" 

"Around seven," Ive says. He's silent for a beat and then, "by the way, is that your shirt that's stuck on top of the lamp shade?" 

Jason looks over and yeah, sure enough. 

As he's tugging it on, he's pretty sure he hears Ives muttering something under his breath that sounds a whole lot like _Mara Jade tattoo_. 

-

"Stop it." 

"What?" 

"You _know_ what." 

"I'm pretty sure I don't, Jason." 

Tim's leaning against the stacks in the Gotham City Library, arms crossed over his chest, causing the hem of his t-shirt to ride up just enough that Jason can see the thin dusting of hair and the beginnings of the dark, swooping lines of his aperture. He's also 110% doing it on purpose. 

"I don't see why you couldn't go to the GU library for this. Or, you know, _O_." 

Tim just gives him that grin that's a whole lot like a shark. What an asshole.

"I'm working, jackass." 

"Oh, c'mon, you're telling me that you've never wanted to make out in the stacks of a library before? That's a classic. You can't pretend you're not tempted because I know you are, you're doing that thing with your jaw when you're trying to pretend like you're not turned on." 

"Some of _us_ have to work for a living, rich boy," Jason points out. 

Tim blows out a breath, causing his too-long, untied hair to fly up and out of his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." 

"You know," Jason says, pointedly changing the subject in a way that he knows isn't even a little bit subtle. "I've gotten a lot of unsolicited advice lately on what my next ink should be."

Tim unfolds his arms, eyes snapping to Jason in that intent, too-focused way of his. Jason sucks in a breath. He doesn't think he's ever gonna get tired of that look -- get tired of seeing it trained on him. 

"Yeah?" 

"I've heard everything from a pansy to a Star Wars tattoo of Mara Jade's face." 

Tim laughs. "I probably should've seen that coming with you and Ives. So, that's a no on the Star Wars tattoo, I'm guessing? What about a portrait of Dick's mullet? Oh, or just Alfred's mustache, that'd be very hipster of you..." 

Jason laughs, reaching out a hand and reeling Tim in. "Shut up." 

Tim backs Jason into the stacks, the sharp edges of the books digging into his spine. They're in a tucked away corner and it's a dead hour, so the chances of anyone stumbling in are pretty low and Tim's up on his tiptoes and so close, a smirk curling around the edges of his lips, a daring look in his eyes that Jason will never not rise to and Tim murmurs, "but I thought you were working," and Jason huffs a laugh, whispers back just as quiet, "you're such a fucking asshole, Tim," and kisses him anyways.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] one, two, for your bad tattoos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6448723) by [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins)




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